Nemesis: Runway Model
by Burningbridges
Summary: Nemesis in a fashion show? Los Illuminados with a TV channel? The world must be ending.


_From the sinister mind of Vera L: Nemesis is… A runway model?_

_Yes, you heard me right. Nemesis is America's newest model. If you're sitting there asking why in earth I even took this random thought into consideration, well… I don't know. It hit me when I was washing my hair – like a rock being thrown by someone who thinks I'm nuts. Looks out the window and sees a whole bunch of my readers shaking their fists at me Um… Yeah. _

_This story goes out to Nonliving-Nightmare, because I enjoy writing with him, reading his stories, and because he makes me laugh. You're a pretty cool friend._

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Nemesis: Runway Model

You're tuned into the National Geographic 1 ½ channel… A channel most people ignore because it's an illegal use of a copyright and run by a crazy Spanish cult. Tonight at eight, 'Some Guy Rants About Airport Security', and then at nine, 'Why Umbrella is Not as Awesome as Everyone Thought and Los Illuminados Deserve to Rule the World'. Right now, National Geographic coughcoughcopyrightinfringement presents 'Nemesis: Runway Model' by virtue of Our Great Leader's desire to show everyone how much better our religious community is than those freaks overseas.

The National Geographic music plays and annoying humming can be heard in the background, while a logo of a guy in a purple robe giving a thumbs-up is shown. A warning stating that 'If you are weak of heart, this documentary should not be viewed due to lack of crew experience. Under the circumstances that you are indeed weak of heart, your best bet is to slam your head into the coffee table as hard as possible. Afterwards, you'll be so disoriented you won't even notice how bad this program really is' follows.

Suddenly, this guy with what looks like a burlap sack over his head, holding up a chainsaw, comes on muttering something in Spanish.

"Um…" says a voice from behind the camera, "This is supposed to be in English. Is there a SAP button on this guy anywhere?"

The guy, previously grumbling in Spanish, now growls and revs the chainsaw threateningly. All the viewers at home see is the blade come closer to the screen, and then the camera tilts back to show the ceiling, and there's a loud thud. The Author comes into view, looking down at the camera. "Damn it. I need a new camera man!"

The camera gets picked up, and The Author is seen punching the chainsaw-toting dude in the face. "Don't make me write in another camera man, dumb-ass! This is a live show! Follow the script!"

He grumbles at her, and she crosses her arms. "You're messing up the show. I need a new host!"

Before he can respond, a couple of people drag him off, and The Author smiles in satisfaction before walking off-screen. After a few long moments, a severely disturbed Carlos Oliveira gets pushed in front of the camera. "Uh… Hi, my name's Carlos Oliveira, and I'll be your host for tonight, because the persons in charge of the show have formed an uprising against The Los Illuminados and their… Um… 'stupid… broadcasting… system', and would rather have a U.B.C.S. member hosting… I'm not going to get killed because of this, am I?"

He apparently doesn't get an answer. "Well, welcome to the show. Tonight we will be looking at something that I just totally don't understand how it happened… A fashion show starring none other than Nemesis."

The camera cuts to the stage, where you see Dario holding a microphone. "Ladies and Gentleman, Boys and Girls… Well, not Boys and Girls… If you're under the age of 16, you probably shouldn't be here, as this show isn't quite appropriate for the younger, more impressionable generations… Anyway, welcome to the greatest – and maybe scariest – fashion show you will ever witness, sponsored by Ramon Salazar, and me, Dario. Get ready for… What does that say? Are you serious?… 'Who's Hurling Bread'!"

The camera cuts back to Carlos, who's shaking his head. "Who comes up with this stuff?" He fakes a smile, and tries to get into character. "There's a constant bustle behind the long red curtains that close off the stage, as the models are getting ready for the show, starting in about fifteen minutes. Nemesis, technically having no job since Umbrella went under, has become a star overnight… More or less just because he has enough weaponry to take out the army, and looks quite incredible in leather… I can't believe I just said that… Anyway, let's go see how he prepares himself for his big show tonight."

Carlos turns and begins to walk away, while the camera follows. They end up at a reinforced steel door, with the distinguishing features of being the only door like that in the whole place, and having a small brass plate that read CAUTION in badly etched lettering. Carlos carefully opens the door, and peers inside. "Um… We're doing a documentary… Mind if we follow you around everywhere and talk about you?"

He waves to the cameraman to follow him, and they stroll into the dressing room, where Nemesis is making sure that he doesn't have anything stuck in his teeth. Carlos stares at him momentarily, and turns back to the camera. "This is where it all begins… The dressing room."

Nemesis growls and Carlos jumps a little bit. "No, we won't film you changing… Believe me…"

Nemesis seems satisfied by that answer, and stomps off into another room within the room, probably a walk-in closet. "While he's doing that… Okay. Nemesis, the ex-terror created by Umbrella. 'Ex-terror'? He still seems pretty terrifying to me…" Carlos whispers, looking around to make sure he doesn't hear them. "How did he become a model? No one really knows, it just seems to have happened… Either way, the idea has taken on quite a few fans, how I don't know. Eww…" He shudders. "Tonight, Nemesis will face his biggest challenge ever. He'll be walking down that strip with some of the (questionably) sexiest people in… Well, this relative area… And that's about all. Can he pull this off? I highly doubt it… Now, let's get a final word before we go see what the audience thinks of this…"

Carlos strolls over to the door of the room where Nemesis is, and shouts, "Any final thoughts before the show?"

Nemesis responds with a single word. "S.T.A.R.S."

"I kinda figured he'd say that," Carlos muttered to the camera, "That's virtually the only word he knows…"

The camera cuts to Carlos standing before the front row of the audience, looking quite serious. "Now, why do people seem to like this so much? Let's find out." He walks over to a very ticked-off looking William Birkin. "Hey, Birkin, I didn't think you were into this stuff."

He doesn't respond. Instead he crosses his arms, and glares directly ahead of him like Carlos isn't there.

"Care to say anything for the show?"

"Yes," he mumbles, "I was never here."

"Right…" Carlos turns away from him, looking around for anyone else familiar. "Aha! Chris Redfield, care to say anything?"

"Sure. Hey, America… And wherever else this can be seen from… I'm Chris Redfield, and I think this show will be totally awesome. Keep watching it."

"Isn't your sister Claire in the show?"

"Yeah, and I'd better not find anybody messing around with her…" He gives Carlos and the cameraman dirty looks. "That goes for everyone watching, too."

Carlos decides to move on quickly and spots Dario wandering around offstage. "Hey, Dario! Care to say anything about the show? Like, maybe, how you became the host?"

"Of course," he says, "I'm Dario, the host of the performance tonight. My warehouse wasn't doing so great lately, so I decided to do some temporary work and found an opening for a host. So here I am."

"Any thoughts on the talent?"

"Yeah, they're all pretty great. I haven't seen finesse like this since… Well, ever. Especially that Claire Redfield!" He manages to wolf whistle right before Chris tackles him.

"It should be just about time for the show…" Carlos says a minute later, and Dario suddenly comes running across the stage, and takes his place, looking quite disheveled, and sporting a black eye.

"It's time for the show! The moment you've all been waiting for, our first model tonight is Rebecca Chambers, wearing the fashion stylings of Different From a Rock!"

Rebecca rounds the curtain and strolls slowly down the strip in a rather ugly black dress decorated with fake fruit, while some random rap music starts to play. She goes to do a flirty spin at the end of the catwalk, and ends up flinging a fake orange from her dress into the audience. The camera lingers on her for a moment, the cameraman laughing at her expense (as well as whoever got hit with the orange), and then goes back to the stage where Dario seems to be questioning whether or not there will be any real talent in this show. He quickly moves on. 

"Our next model is Jill Valentine, a friend of mine, displaying the newest work from '84 Toaster Oven!"

Jill came out, confident as always, wearing what would have appeared to be a dress made out of aluminum foil, spray-painted blue. She seems to know exactly what she's doing, her strut being absolutely perfect, and she even waves to a few people in the audience before walking off.

"The next model is someone probably everyone knows about, the 'wonderful' Alfred Ashford, dressed as his sister Alexia! That's actually kinda sexy…" Dario trails off.

Just as we're about to relive that bit of the… disturbing… incident, there's a loud and annoying beeping, and the screen turns maroon, displaying a message about Severe Weather in the area. And who else's but Nicholai's voice comes on in the background.

"Please stand by. Station Ahí Esta will be up shortly. The National Weather Service has issued a severe thunderstorm warning for your area until 5pm. At 4:05pm, National Weather Service Doppler radar indicated a severe thunderstorm heading east at 50 miles per hour. The storm will be near… Blah, blah, blah, yada, yada… Who cares? If you're actually outside in the storm, you're not going to see this announcement, anyway."

Nicholai gets cut off, as it goes back to the show, where the audience seems to have loved Alfred, since their cheering insanely loud.

"Wow…" Dario says in awe, "That was incredible…" he pauses, apparently taking a moment to ponder his own sexuality. "Anyway… Our next model is the infamous Albert Wesker, wearing the latest by Creepy Freaks from Hell!"

The ever sexy and Machiavellian Wesker comes sauntering out while 'Juicy' starts playing, wearing what looks like his normal clothes from the first RE game, but covered in very shiny black sequins. To be perfectly concise, he looked like a younger version of that creepy dude who used to be the announcer on The Price is Right. He didn't seem too concerned about it, though, being the portrait of poise at the moment. The audience didn't have much of a reaction, being full of people who just couldn't picture him in anything that shiny, or having been affected in some way by his villainy. The only person who really seemed all that excited was Birkin, still sulking, but clapping… very, very quietly.

"I haven't seen anything that sparkly since the wardrobe on Grand Ole Opry back in the mid '90s!" Dario says, being the only one to laugh at his own joke. "No sense of humor… Anywho, next we have Claire Redfield, in something remotely resembling a dress, concocted by Bombs and Waffle Houses!"

Claire very unhurriedly comes into view, in a neon orange dress that was at least five feet too long and dragging behind her while she struggles to walk normally. Dario walks casually over to her, checking her out the whole time, and in his smoothest tone asks, "You want to go out for a drink later?"

The disturbed Claire attempts to punch him, but in the attempt, falls right off the stage and flat on her face. Chris, after pausing at his sister's side to see if she's okay, hops onto the stage and runs after the amused Dario. Claire remains tangled up in the dress on the floor, where she gets stepped on a few times.

The camera goes back to Carlos, who hasn't been paying attention at all this whole time. Instead, he seems to be snoring. The cameraman prods him with the microphone, and he wakes up with a start. "Is it over?"

The camera shakes back and forth, signaling that, no; it's not. Carlos sighs.

"Damn. We're on the last model? Okay, okay, I've got it." He pretends to be happy about the situation, straitening out his vest quickly, and brushing his hair back with one hand.

"This is the moment you've been waiting for this whole show, everyone. The showstopper, Nemesis. He should be along any moment now."

Just as Carlos said this, the theatre lights dimmed, brightening up the stage considerably, and Lady Marmalade started playing. As if that wasn't the most disturbing thought on the viewer's minds, Nemesis walked casually onto the stage, wearing his usual trench coat, and permanent glower. He comes to the end of the strip, looking around at all the people who, more or less, came to see him, and pauses to build the suspense. Without any warning, he rips the trench in half, Hulk-style.

Picture, if you will (just do it; I'm outside of your house right now with pictures) a horribly disfigured monster weighing in at about the mass of a rhino, and just as mean, sporting a rather normal-looking black halter top, bedecked with very colorful, tropical flowers and a hot pink miniskirt made of plastic-like material. The audience was silent with awe, except for the Author who's clapping enthusiastically and cheering him on with a "Go, Nemmy!"

The camera cuts to Carlos, watching the spectacle with an expression similar to someone who just watched a puppy die and a busload of old people explode at the same time. He stares for a very long time, before closing his eyes and very slowly turning to the camera.

"Everyone, that was Nemesis' first time modeling… And… Having known him for some time… I think that was really… Really… 'Interesting'… Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'm going to get drunk and admit myself to a mental institution…"

He then gets down on the floor in the fetal position, and the cameraman focuses on him for just a moment before moving on to the Author, still hopping up and down with delight, as the audience claps for the exiting Nemesis. The cameraman whispers something to her, and she stops jumping and faces the camera with a smile.

"My dear viewers, thank you so much for watching this wonderful documentary-type show that isn't quite a documentary as much as a bad reality show. Your support makes the Anti-Cult community's crusade all the more worthwhile. Now, seeing as the regular host is incapacitated, and Los Illuminados are probably on their way here right now, we'll have to bid you goodnight. This has been Nemesis: Runway Model. Until next time, I am the Author, and you didn't see me anywhere near the local Umbrella facility."

She turns away abruptly, walking along the front row of seats, where you can see Claire still getting trampled, Birkin in a caustic mood, and Chris beating Dario to a bloody pulp. The other models have taken up lounging around the end of the stage, playing strip poker. Carlos is still freaking out. Dr. Salvador, the original host, has gotten free and is now dancing on the end of the strip to the sound of 'Tarzan Boy'. The cameraman sets down the camera and joins him, doing the Calypso, until the credits roll, the MCMXC dealie, and you change the channel out of complete and total concern for what this world's coming to.

The End.

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_Ahh… The sweet satisfaction of being terrified beyond reason… It could have been worse, though, right? Right? Hello? Anybody?_

_turns on the TV to see that I'm being put on fashion show probation_

_Leave me a review, and let me know what you thought of this program/story!_


End file.
